


A kiss, for every letter unsent

by Tiara_of_Sapphires



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: F/F, First Kiss, Fluff, Mutual Pining, Post-Blue Lions Route (Fire Emblem: Three Houses)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-18
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-26 20:27:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,096
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30111579
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tiara_of_Sapphires/pseuds/Tiara_of_Sapphires
Summary: Marianne and Mercedes meet at a masquerade ball in Fhirdiad a year after the war’s end. Marianne tries to hide her affection for the other woman under her mask, the same way she hid all of the letters that she didn't have the courage to send.My contribution to the FE3H Rarepair Zine
Relationships: Marianne von Edmund/Mercedes von Martritz, Minor or Background Relationship(s)
Comments: 2
Kudos: 15
Collections: A Lost Ballroom of Gold





	A kiss, for every letter unsent

**Author's Note:**

> Cute stuff heeeeeeeeeeere!
> 
> Enjoy!

The invitation had been a welcome one, especially since Marianne hadn’t been able to kick the habit of thinking the worst every time she received a letter from anyone.

Even then, she was taken aback. An esteemed guest to the palace? Marianne couldn’t remember a time when she had been an esteemed guest to anywhere.

The Blue Lion house, the surviving members of the Golden Deer, the Black Eagles who had allied with Fhirdiad during the war, various faithful nobles, were all invited.

Dimitri had insisted that each of his former classmates be treated as esteemed guests, with their own suites in the palace and thoroughly attended to by servants. It was a far cry from the days of scarcity and shared tents during long campaigns during the war.

But that was the whole point of the day, wasn’t it? It was to celebrate the war’s end, a year after Enbarr fell. It was as good a time as any, as the country had just begun to bounce back from the hardship.

Her adoptive father would have insisted that she attend the party to represent the family, but she wanted to go anyway. She missed her friends, despite all of the pain and hardship that had come from the war.

She also missed Mercedes, above all. That was something she wasn’t going to admit aloud. The box of unsent letters that sat under her bed was enough indication of it.

Someone had carried off her trunk as soon as she had arrived and King Dimitri had stepped out to greet her.

The stress of leadership definitely weighed him down, but there was more life in him, a welcome change from the violent shadow he had been during the war.

“I suppose I wasn’t too specific with my invitation. I should have, but I have little experience with such things. It’s going to be a masquerade. I thought it would be an interesting change from the standard sort of dance.”

“Oh?” Marianne said, stomach sinking at the fact that she was already underprepared. “I don’t believe I have a mask.”

Dimitri waved up her concern with a smile. “Of course, I wouldn’t expect you to. I have had masks prepared for everyone, at least. Yours should be in your quarters.”

“That is very considerate of you.”

“I wanted to make sure that my guests have as little to worry about as possible. Seems only fair, after the hell I dragged you through during the war?”

She made no comment to that. While nearly all in their class had been beleaguered by Dimitri and his demons throughout the war, most, if not all, had been forgiven by the end. Goddess knew that her dragging them to her adoptive father’s land to clear her name was something to be forgiven by all who joined her and the Professor.

“Things best left in the past; wouldn’t you think? We should live in the happiness of now,” Marianne said with a small smile. The words of a hypocrite, who clung to unsent letters and lacked the courage to reach out, now that the future stretched far ahead of them.

* * *

* * *

Marianne couldn’t help the trepidation as her assigned attendant escorted her through long palace halls to her suite.

The woman, a brunette named Clara, didn’t leave her side. It seemed, for better or worse, she was going to be preparing Marianne for the party that night.

She helped her bathe in a tub of warm water, using soft-smelling soaps on her skin and hair. She used what Marianne could only assume was the lightest possible application of a fire spell to dry her hair.

Marianne clasped her hands in her lap as Clara brushed and braided her hair, wishing that it was a different pair of hands that were dealing soft touches.

Clara insisted on the lavender dress, commenting on how the color would complement her hair and the royal purple mask that the host had given her. A bejeweled pin to hold her hair back and shoes just elegant enough for the occasion but comfortable enough to dance in, and her outfit was complete.

Marianne smoothed her hands down the front of her dress skirt. It was a far cry from the riding uniforms that she was used to wearing about her adoptive father’s estate. She didn’t know that the servants had packed the thing until Clara pulled it out of the trunk and cooed over how lovely it was.

She paused at her door. Back at Garreg Mach, before the school ball, she had written a letter to Mercedes asking if she would be able to meet her there, perhaps share a dance and a glass of champagne.

Many of her letters were like that. She found an excuse to write to her about just about anything, even the smallest thing that she could have sent Mercedes if she had even an ounce of courage in her to do it.

There were requests for favors that she inevitably asked other people for.

Some were invitations to have dinner together, to meet at the stables, or to have a picnic.

By chance, sometimes she would be able to share a meal with Mercedes if they ended up in the dining hall together or study magic together if they spotted each other in the library. Those were happy accidents, never planned.

There was certainly no plan for Marianne when she followed the slow flow of people to the great ballroom in the center of the palace.

Marianne had started off with the distant worry that she would be in a sea of strangers, not knowing who was who until actually speaking to them.

Apparently, she didn’t have to wait very long to see some familiar faces.

In one corner was Sylvain, with the uniform of a Margrave and a mask colored like a robin’s egg. His arm was swung around who she could only assume was Felix’s shoulder, who’s mask was black like his hair and arms were crossed over his chest. When Marianne saw Annette approach the two men, her heart leapt to her throat, thinking that Mercedes would be close behind.

She wasn’t, and disappointment sunk in her stomach.

“Oh, Marianne! Come over here!” Annette called out, clearly catching Marianne staring.

Hoping that her reflexive wince was hidden behind her mask, she approached the small group and curtsied in greeting.

“I’m glad to see you all again.”

“Likewise,” Sylvain replied with a wide grin.

Annette wrung her hands. Her mask almost perfectly matched the shade of her hair.

“It’s such a big party and it looked like you were looking for someone to talk to. I hope we weren’t intruding on some deep thoughts.”

“You looked like you were looking for someone,” Felix said, managing to sound almost accusatory.

The thought to lie crossed Marianne’s mind, but if anyone knew where Mercedes was, it was them. “I was, actually. You wouldn’t happen to know if Mercedes will be attending the ball?” she asked. She pretended not to see the exchanged glances between Annette and Felix.

Annette tapped her chin in thought. “Mercie did tell me that she would be attending, but I think she might have been a bit late arriving to Fhirdiad.”

The conversation meandered from there, with obligatory discussions about their respective territories. Annette seemed to be on Fraldarius and Gautier lands often, more often than she was in her own. Marianne didn’t comment on it.

Marianne wandered off as soon as it was polite to do so, greeting some of the chief mages that were in attendance whom she recognized from the war.

She ate some little fruit tarts and sipped at her champagne flute, determined not to get too tipsy by the night’s end. The time for getting hopelessly drunk had come and gone with the war.

Half an hour of small-talk with minor lords and ladies she definitely wouldn’t remember the names of by the night’s end, she caught sight of Annette rushing to meet someone who just stepped into the hall. The two embraced and Marianne could see that familiar head of blonde hair.

She had written at length over the course of many unsent letters how lovely Mercedes’s hair was and tried not to stare, inevitably failing. The two women had been close since they were students and Marianne couldn’t help but feel the flare of jealousy that their familiarity was so easy.

Annette pointed at Marianne and Mercedes followed the motion to lock eyes with her. Marianne froze, like a deer in a hunter’s sights. She raised a hand and waved tentatively.

Marianne watched as Annette nudged her forward—Goddess, Marianne didn’t know if she wanted to hex the younger woman or thank her—and she walked across the ballroom to get to Marianne. It took mere seconds, but it felt both like a century and no time at all.

At least, Marianne had enough time to smile, something that felt so natural when looking at her.

“Mercedes,” Marianne greeted. How wonderful it was to meet her again, “I’m—I’m so happy to see you.”

Mercedes clasped Marianne’s hands in hers with a brilliant smile.

“I’m so glad to see you, Marianne!”

Marianne could only pray that she could not feel her pulse racing.

The recklessly romantic part of her wanted to recite words from the letters that amounted to sappy, sickly-sweet confessions akin to those she had read in books that she bought from the markets on a whim. The books, she kept, or gave them to Ashe or Ingrid. The letters, she burned. If she didn’t have the courage to confess in-person, she had no right to confess over writing.

Now that Mercedes was in front of her, every part as lovely as Marianne remembered, that same half-baked courage rose to her throat and threatened to choke her.

“You look lovely, Marianne.”

Marianne startled a little and she could feel her ears heat up in embarrassment. “O—oh thank you. You look great as well.”

The grey dress she wore was very flattering, the accents matching perfectly with the red of her mask.

Mercedes ducked in close with a wry smile and Marianne could catch the smell of her flowery perfume.

“I’m not sure why His Majesty had insisted that this be a masquerade, but it seems to be _en vogue_ , with the air of mystery of it all. I think it’s rather fun, though it is easy to pick out most of our classmates.”

Marianne made a noise of agreement and set her champagne glass on the nearby table before the shaking of her hands was made apparent to her companion.

Mercedes pulled back, but was still completely focused on Marianne’s face, as if the people milling around them weren’t there. “Regardless, it is a dance, is it not? Would you care to dance with me?”

Fear clutched around her throat, rendering her mute as she nodded. Goddess, she wanted nothing more than to dance with her.

Mercedes took her arm and led her out to the dancefloor, just as the orchestra began the start of another piece.

Growing up, Marianne had no choice but to learn how to dance all of the traditional Fodlandian dances. While it was clear that Mercedes had some similar experience, it wasn’t quite as fluid.

Just the pure euphoria of having Mercedes in her arms was enough to excuse any possible missteps.

Even as the violins and wind instruments and the laughter of their friends filled the hall, Marianne’s mind wandered.

Mercedes was so beautiful, with a soft, relaxed air about her as she took the lead. It had been a long time since Marianne had seen her this carefree.

During the war, the letters Marianne wrote often became simple words of encouragement and prayers for safety, before and after battles. As healers, they were both tasked at saving lives as well as taking them. Sometimes they would go full days without sleeping because there were too many people needing healing. It wouldn’t be until their hands were stained with magic and their knees were weak from exhaustion before the Professor would force them to return to their quarters for rest.

They leaned on each other, but Marianne made sure that there was some distance, lest she fall too close in a moment of weakness.

Marianne’s truest test of her resolve came after Fort Merceus.

Something had happened there, in the melee of battle, that shattered Mercedes to her very core. Marianne had been on the other side of the fort and didn’t see Mercedes until they trudged back to camp. None of their fellow classmates fell in battle, though many were injured, so it didn’t explain what happened.

The Professor seemed to have some idea, but she remained mum about it, only quietly assigning Mercedes’s duties to the others for the following week. Marianne didn’t dare ask Mercedes what made her so sad, and couldn’t find the courage to approach when the older woman prayed in the cathedral.

All she could do is catch Mercedes’s arm when they passed each other one day and squeeze, hoping that all of the words and courage that had failed her would be conveyed through that one touch.

The sorrowful smile that pulled at the blonde woman’s face broke Marianne’s heart. She wrote as much in another letter that went unsent.

After the war, she wrote inane letters about the weather and the Church and whether or not the Professor-now-Archbishop was going to confess to her new advisor. She asked for courage, if she would be able to wiggle her way out of her obligations as a lady and be with the animals.

It was rather pathetic, to pine so thoroughly.

Mercedes squeezed her elbow, snapping her back to reality.

“Do you want to get some air? It’s awfully stuffy in here.”

Marianne was suddenly very grateful that the mask could hide at least some of the panic that shot through her.

Mercedes led her across the dancefloor to one of the blissfully, horribly empty balconies that ringed around the main ballroom. The crisp night air felt good, but she felt way too big for her own skin as Mercedes smiled serenely at her.

She wondered if Mercedes knew or had any sort of clue of the feelings that swirled around inside of her. It would have been better if her mask had been made out of the unsent letters. At least, Mercedes would have had a chance to understand.

She pried off the pretty purple mask and held it in her hands, trying to find something to do with her trembling fingers.

When Mercedes glanced at her quizzically, Marianne averted her eyes.

“It’s—it’s hot,” Marianne mumbled.

Mercedes giggled before undoing the tie on her mask as well.

“I have to agree, Marianne.”

Mercedes set the mask on the balcony, only for a breeze to pick it up and send it flying into the air.

“Oh!” Marianne exclaimed.

Neither woman made a real attempt to catch it, as it quickly flew out of reach and drifted down toward the garden below.

Mercedes glanced over the balcony and shrugged. “It’s okay. I’m sure the ball will be drawing to a close soon, so I wouldn’t have needed it for too much longer.”

The reminder was like a blow to the chest. The ball would end and they would disperse to their various corners of the continent. From then, it would be a question of when Marianne would gain the courage to send one of her letters, as distance and time would grow between them.

“I—,” Marianne started, before her jaw clicked shut.

She kicked herself, trying to remind herself of the pretty prose that she would write. The Margrave always said that the start to a great oration was a good script. The script wasn’t everything, just a map for where to go as each word fell out of the speaker’s mouth.

Marianne didn’t prepare a speech, but she could cobble together the words and emotions that had built up over dozens of letters that piled up in that wooden box.

She cleared her throat as Mercedes watched her with the same soft smile, expectant for what she was going to say.

“I had admired you since we were students together at Garreg Mach. I missed you in the five years from when Garreg Mach fell and when we returned at the Millennium festival. When we were together during the war…” Marianne paused and shook her head.

There were so many things she could say. It was all a jumbled mess, fractured pieces of memory and feeling.

“I counted myself lucky to be near you and call you my friend. It ought to be enough, shouldn’t it? The Goddess gave me this much, so I shouldn’t ask for more.”

Her hands twitched as they gripped the mask, wanting to reach out. She steeled herself, just as she had done dozens of times.

“Oh, Marianne.”

Marianne cast her eyes to the floor, any response caught in her throat. Her own name sounded so pretty in Mercedes’ mouth.

“Now that the war is over, I want to be strong and voice the feelings that I have. My—my feelings of friendship have deepened to something more that scared me to the point that I could not speak of them until now.”

The words caught up in her throat, and she wished for the silence of their dance. Her eyes fell to the mask in her hands and she wondered if there was a way that she could join the grey mask languishing in the hedge below without hurting herself too badly.

Marianne stiffened as another pair of hands came into view, Mercedes stepping closer to her. Mercedes cradled her hands with all the delicacy as if Marianne was a wounded bird.

“I wish you had told me sooner. It would have made things much easier for you.”

The older woman took a half-step closer, watching Marianne’s face in askance.

“I suppose we have both been unkind to ourselves. After such a terrible war, don’t you think we should find happiness?”

Mercedes squeezed her hands and the tension that was wrapped like a band across Marianne’s chest suddenly relaxed. There was no venom, no rejection or reproach.

Marianne leaned forward and hoped that Mercedes understood her meaning.

The faint scratch of ink on paper and clumsiness of words paled in comparison to a kiss. Mercedes tasted like mint and calming tea and told Marianne all she needed to know.

**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are appreciated! 
> 
> [I am also attempting to make my general twitter my writer twitter. Give me a follow there as well!](https://twitter.com/BlooRalts)  
> Cheers!


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